


Snow, Sweaters and Sunny Vacations

by WorryinglyInnocent



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: A Monthly Rumbelling, AU, F/M, Hyperion Heights, Woven Beauty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 10:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17702696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: Woven Beauty. Detectives French and Weaver have been friends for years. Now all Weaver has to do is pluck up the courage to ask his office-mate out on a date…Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling picture prompthere.





	Snow, Sweaters and Sunny Vacations

“It’s freezing out there!”

Weaver didn’t look up as French came into the office. At least, he assumed it was French. It sounded like French, although it was so bundled up under layers of puffy jackets and scarves, all dusted with a light coating of snow, that it really could have been anyone.

He and French had been sharing an office for as long as Weaver could remember. They annoyed each other too much to be partners, but when they weren’t annoying each other, they got on like a house on fire.

Detective French finally removed her last layer of outerwear to reveal a soft white roll-neck sweater that looked very fetching on her, even if Weaver would never pluck up the courage to tell her that to her face.

“Oh, it is you, French. Under all your layers I wasn’t sure.”

She rolled her eyes. “It may have escaped your notice, since apparently you don’t have a home to go to and you never leave the station, but it’s been snowing all night and it’s flipping cold!”

“You always think it’s cold.”

“Well, Seattle is certainly not comparable to Melbourne in terms of temperature, but this is just ridiculous!” She gestured exuberantly in the vague direction of ‘outside’, and then there was a long pause whilst she got herself settled behind her desk. “Besides, I told you to call me Belle.”

“I know you did, French.”

She scowled across the room at him and they fell into silence as they worked.

“Where’s your partner?” she asked presently, eyeing the empty desk in the room.

“Not sure. I’m inclined to believe that he got stuck in a snow drift and Tilly’s digging him out.”

He watched out of the corner of his eye as French gave a giggling snort in spite of herself.

“Poor man. Do you think he feels like a third wheel in here with us?”

“We do bicker like an old married couple sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” French scoffed. “Get me a coffee please?” she asked as Weaver got up and took one step in the direction of the coffee pot.

“Get your own.”

“My fingers are freezing off here, Weaver. They still haven’t thawed out from the walk in. I might drop the coffee pot and then where would we be? What if I flutter my eyelashes at you?”

“I’d wonder what was wrong with you.” Nevertheless, he poured her a cup of coffee and brought it over, leaning against her desk as he drank his own.

“Getting anywhere with that break-in at the pet store?” he asked. French shook her head.

“I’ve got nothing. It’s like a ghost did it. I don’t understand. Nothing was taken. None of the animals were harmed. I just want to know why it was done. Something doesn’t add up. Captain’s probably going to get me to drop it today. I mean, I can see why, there’s not a lot of point in pursuing it when there’s been no harm done, but at the same time, it’s just such a weird crime that I can’t let go of it.”

“I think you should trust your instincts.”

“Really?”

“Yes. You’ve got great instincts.” He could think of at least three cases off the top of his head that French had blown open with sheer tenacity and by trusting that something wasn’t right.

She smiled up at him, and Weaver was sure that her smile could have outshone the sun.

“Thanks, Weaver. That means a lot.”

_Just ask her,_ the internal and not at all helpful voice that reminded him of Rogers said. _Just ask her out on a date. You’re not partners, there’s nothing stopping you._

“Weaver?” French hedged. “Is everything all right? You look like you’re about to say something.”

_Will you go out with me? Do you want to go and get lunch at the deli later? I don’t mind warming your freezing hands up._

She gave a soft laugh. “I’d like to know what you’re thinking. You’re miles away.”

“Summer,” he said eventually, which was definitely not what he was thinking about at all. “I was wondering when all the snow’s going to go away and thinking about beach holidays.”

French raised an eyebrow. “Really. You’re thinking about beach holidays.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why not?”

“Normally, you’re a consummate liar, Weaver, but you’ve never taken a vacation in all the time we’ve known each other, and you apparently don’t feel the cold.”

Weaver shrugged, and French sighed.

“Very well. Keep your secrets.” She went back to her paperwork, closing the conversation, and Weaver went back to his own desk. She seemed saddened not to have got the truth from him, and Weaver realised that for all they had antagonised each other and teased each other over the years, they had never outright lied to each other. To other people, all the time, but they had never hidden the truth from each other.

Until now, when Weaver had realised that he was slowly falling in love with her and was panicking at the knowledge.

This wasn’t a situation that he had ever found himself in before, and it had snuck up on him so stealthily and naturally that he hadn’t even realised until it was too late, and now he was already in far too deep.

Maybe the only way out was through. He would just have to go for it and trust his instincts like he had told French to do so often.

“I was thinking about lunch,” he said eventually.

French looked up from her desk. “You were thinking about lunch?”

“Yes. When you asked me what I was thinking about, and I told you that I was thinking about beach holidays. I was actually thinking about lunch.”

“Ok. Why not just say that you were thinking about lunch?”

“Because I was thinking about getting lunch with you. Would you like to? Get lunch. With me. Later. Together.”

A little smile crept up at the corner of her mouth.

“You mean like a date?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what I mean… Belle.”

The smile spread over her whole face, and despite the freezing temperatures in Seattle, it could certainly have melted the snow outside.

“I’d love to,” she said. “It would even make the weather worthwhile.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Oh, I’ve been waiting for so long for you to ask.” French laughed. “I nearly asked you myself, I thought that I ought to trust my instincts and just go for it, but then I didn’t want to ruin our friendship if you said no and it was all awkward. I guess I just wasn’t brave enough to bite the bullet and go for it. I’m really glad that you were, though.”

Weaver nodded. “Yeah. I am too.”

They fell back into silence after that, but Weaver knew that neither of them were going to end up getting all that much work done until they’d been out for their date. They kept stealing little glances at each other, smiling and then looking away. French kept giggling, and finally Weaver put down his pen, raising an eyebrow.

“What’s tickled you?”

“You. I was thinking about you on a beach holiday.”

“Ah.” It really had been a terrible spur of the moment lie. As much as he might complain about being overworked in the station, Weaver couldn’t think of anything worse than a week spent sitting on a beach doing nothing.

“The thing that makes it more entertaining is that I can’t imagine you not wearing that leather jacket. Even on the beach, you’re still in your leather jacket and jeans.”

Weaver snorted, and then tried to turn his thoughts away from beach holidays, because they were filling his brain up with images of French in a bikini, lazing on the sand, and that was going to cause some problems if he continued down that rabbit hole.

“What kind of a holiday would you go on?” she asked. “I’ve never really thought of you as an exotic vacation kind of guy.”

“I’ve no idea. I can’t remember the last time I went on vacation.” He looked out of the window at the snow still coming down thickly. Perhaps they might have to postpone their date if they ended up snowed into the station. “Not skiing, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah. Whether you feel the cold or not, we’re all sick of the snow.” French paused. “I can’t see you on skis either.”

Weaver raised an eyebrow. “So where can you see me?”

French pondered for a long time before replying, and Weaver was beginning to think that perhaps she’d fallen into some kind of catatonic state and that the idea of imagining him on vacation was too much for her brain to cope with.

“Road trip,” she said. “I can see you on a road trip somewhere, across the states or across Europe. Driving a nice classic car and just exploring the world, with nothing to worry about. You know, I think that’s my ideal kind of vacation too. Just… seeing as much of the world as I can.”

French had never hidden her desire to travel, and Weaver had more than once wondered how come a person with itchy feet such as her had ended up in suburban Seattle as a detective.

The more he thought about it, though, the more he could see himself driving around, discovering the world, and the more he could see French by his side in these fancies. Maybe there was time enough to plan a proper vacation after all.

It would stop French complaining about the cold, if nothing else.

 


End file.
